


Stones and Still Water

by Dolorosa



Category: Pagan Chronicles - Catherine Jinks
Genre: F/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2402102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolorosa/pseuds/Dolorosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babylonne asks Isidore about his memories of her mother, Mabelia. See end note for content warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stones and Still Water

'Do I look like my mother?' Babylonne asked, curled up against Isidore in the winter moonlight.

Isidore propped himself up on one elbow. 

'You look so, so very much like Pagan. You have his eyes and nose, his unruly hair, and of course his colouring.' 

He kissed the palm of her hand.

'And, like Pagan, you're tiny — although Mabelia was small too. She used to sit in the corner of the room like a frightened little rabbit, while your grandmother, aunts and various hangers-on would bluster around, shouting and fighting and taking up all the space.'

Babylonne curled more tightly against Isidore, shifting his arm slightly so that it was wrapped around her.

'There is a certain way in which you hold your jaw, the curve of your mouth, that is eerily like Mabelia,' Isidore went on. 'It shows sometimes when you're worried, or when you're trying not to say something embarrassing or controversial in public. I very rarely saw her happy, and so sadly I cannot say if you have anything of her in your face when you smile.'

Babylonne was silent for a long time, drowsily twining and untwining her fingers with Isidore's.

'What was she like?' Babylonne asked. 'Beyond beautiful, sad and frightened, as you told me once?'

'Mabelia? She was small, and still, and quiet. She didn't talk very much with me — I think she asked me about my family, once, and I told her about being an orphan. She was a good listener, in that although she didn't talk very much, she had a way of helping you unspool your thoughts like a thread, so that they were neat and organised and connected. She watched and listened to everyone in a room very carefully, as if she were assessing the space for threats, and she always seemed to try and shrink herself, to keep her voice soft and light and pleasant and under control. It was noticeable, in that house where your grandmother's voice was constantly raised, where your aunts would slap each other and scream at everyone and try to get into arguments with Pagan, that I never once heard your mother shout.'

He held on to Babylonne's hand very tightly, checking to see what effect his words were having.

'I'm fine,' she said. 'I asked you. I wanted to know.'

'Whenever Pagan was with her,' Isidore continued, 'he used to bend his head down to hear her — she spoke so quietly — and he would gesture less emphatically, and speak less loudly than he normally did. I didn't understand it at the time, but I think he knew that sudden motions and raised voices were unsettling to her, so he became a more subdued and less animated version of himself to make her feel safe.'

'I feel like that's what you did with me at first, when you found me,' said Babylonne.

'Mabelia would _never_ have thrown pepper in my eyes, or warned me to stay away while brandishing a pair of scissors. There was too much fear in her, and her only weapon — or at least the only one she felt safe enough to use — was a kind of outer stillness, like a stone at the bottom of a raging river.'

'A raging river is a kind way to put it. My grandmother is a bully and my aunt Navarre likes to set people up for failure so that she can hurt and shout at them. She needs everyone to feel small so that she can think herself strong,' said Babylonne.

Isidore sighed.

'That's what makes me so sad — I can't even tell you if Mabelia was only as I remember her because of Blanche, Navarre and the others' cruelty, if their bullying made her quiet and watchful and diminished, or if she always would have been like that. I wish I could share some memory of her in which she was not afraid! Perhaps Pagan had such memories — perhaps when they were alone she smiled, talked loudly, laughed and shouted — but I have no way of knowing that. I wish I could tell you something better.'

'I prefer your memories to Navarre's,' said Babylonne emphatically. 'If I have to know my mother only through the memories of other people, I want to hear about her from you. At least you were able to see that she was frightened, and that if she hadn't been frightened she might've been able to become a very different person. At least you put the blame where it truly lies, not with "the corrupt Church of Rome" or "that serpent, Pagan Kidrouk". At least you understood what was going on in that household.'

'Do you know when I knew you had truly escaped the shadow of those people?' asked Isidore. 'It was when we had our first real argument, back here in Bologna, and you shouted back with the full force of your anger, completely unafraid. I can't even remember what the fight was about, but you shouted, I shouted, and you were relaxed in your anger, rather than looking around for escape routes or sizing up the contents of the room as potential weapons. You'd stopped associating disagreement with the threat of violence, at least with me.'

Babylonne's fingers were digging into Isidore's arm. He kissed her head, pushed her cloud of hair over her ear and kissed her in a soft line along her cheekbone. The rigidity went out of her shoulders and she relaxed back against the bed.

'I don't remember that argument. It can't have been about anything important,' she said, her eyes falling closed.

'And in any case, Isidore, you might be ridiculously tall and wear imposing black robes, but you're really not all that scary.'

Isidore smiled, and let Babylonne fall back against him, even though he knew from bitter experience that this meant he would not be able to move until his arm was numb. Babylonne slipped easily into sleep, her breathing deep and regular, but Isidore lay awake for a long time, trying — and failing — to wrestle his thoughts into stillness.

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of past emotional and physical abuse. It doesn't go into great detail, so use your own judgement if you feel this is something you'd prefer to avoid. 
> 
> Babylonne is 18, and this fic takes place shortly after the events of 'Bodies of Clay'.


End file.
